


Going to the chapel

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Coming up for air [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, No Sex, no one gets married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the best way to drive Athos insane?</p><p>Ask him about the party favours at his wedding with d'Artagnan where the guests are going to arrive by hot air balloon, and wear 'Team Athos' or 'Team Charles' buttons.</p><p>In which Athos totally loses patience with his friends being a tad overexcited about him getting married again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going to the chapel

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by a suggestion from one of my readers, [Maryg](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7846912/comments/73601416), on the previous instalment. It turned out a lot more angsty than I was planning!

“Photo booths are fun?”

“No.”

“Books of poetry for each guest?”

Athos didn’t even bother replying. _Poetry, Jesus._

“Party games?”

He turned around and glared. “Constance, no. I don’t want a reception at _all_ and if we _have_ to have one, which I doubt, it’s going to be a nice meal at an inexpensive...relatively inexpensive restaurant.”

She frowned. “But Charles hasn’t been married before.”

“And he won’t be married this time if you keep it up. Please, stop looking up these idiotic ideas.” He walked off in a genuine huff. Why on earth had he told anyone about this?

And why had he not waited until _after_ the January holiday at Chamonix? Monsieur had wanted a break to let all of them recover and heal from a lousy couple of months, and had even forborne from inviting anyone else to the chalet this year. Which sounded great in theory but had in practice left too many hands and agile brains idle to sit around and come up with ideas to torture him with.

He went out to the back deck. “Oh, Athos! I was hoping to see you.”

He smiled with difficulty. “Madame? Hello, Anton.” He let the baby grab his fingers, though he’d learned to keep his beard out of reach.

“I came across a wonderful idea for your wedding. We could fly everyone from the church to the reception in hot air balloons!”

He went still, while he calculated how very fired he would be if he told his boss what he really thought, friend or no friend. “I think that might impose more complication than necessary.”

“I only thought we don’t have enough room on the jet to fly everyone from Paris to Lupiac, that’s all.”

“Hot air balloons don’t have the range, and we haven’t decided on where we’re going to get married, actually.” The local _mairie_ would do, he thought.

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve also been looking into handmade soaps with the guest’s name on it—when will you have a list?”

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. “Could you excuse me for a moment, Madame? I think I left...Charles. On the stove.”

Her eyes crinkled in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“Um...I meant I left him heating up. He’s hot. Excuse me.”

He bolted into the chalet, hoping to escape to his room before anyone spotted him.

“Athos? Do you have a minute?”

 _Bugger_. “Yes, Louis?”

“I had a word with Toussaint. Fireworks can be booked but we need a date, also he wants to know if you want skydivers with smoke flares?”

His other boss was smiling, and looking the best he had done in months. Athos hated to pee on his parade, but...skydivers? “I think that’s a _little_ over the top for us.”

“Okay. And I think I can get Queen to perform, but Brian May wants a firm date. Man has to collect another degree,” Monsieur said with a grin.

“Queen?”

“Appropriate, don’t you think? De Bourbons, Queen. You like them, don’t you? Everyone likes Queen, they’re like ABBA. Old school but fun.”

“I like Queen, yes. Louis....”

“Yes?”

“Um, Charles and I just want a simple—”

“Oh, it will be, I promise! But Charles has—”

“Never been married before, yes I know. And I want to celebrate it with you all but....”

“Queen’s too much?”

Athos held his thumb and index finger apart by a centimetre. “Maybe a little?”

“But the fireworks?”

Athos sighed internally. The kids would love them. “Who doesn’t like fireworks?”

Monsieur beamed. “Wonderful! So, I’ll see you at dinner! Bye!”

He bounded off like a puppy. Athos was glad Monsieur’s new treatment regimen hadn’t deprived him of his natural enthusiasm, but seriously, skydivers?

He held up his hand as Anne approached. “No.”

She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. Whatever you’re about to suggest for the wedding, no.”

“Ah. Shame. I was thinking of a quick trip to the _mairie_ in Lupiac and business class flights to the destination of your choice for a week away with the husband and ex-wife of your choice, but if you don’t want that....”

He took her into his arms. “I love you, and this is why. You know me so well. Unfortunately, our friends have lost their minds.”

“Yes, weddings do that to people,” she said, grinning and kissing him.

“Even Charles is talking about matching white tuxedos. I look _horrible_ in white.”

“Yes, you do. Why don’t you just get married in Paris and announce it afterwards?”

He groaned, and took her arm, heading towards their room. “Because he has a family. I have a family. Louis insists we are family. Anne, why do they all hate me so much?”

He opened the door and let her in. D’Artagnan looked up and smiled at them. “Hey, Athos, I just found—”

Athos strode over, yanked the iPad out of his hand, turned it off and shoved it into a drawer. “No. No confetti. No cute place name holders. No _doves_ , for fuck’s sake. No ribbons, disposable cameras, novelty eye glasses, novelty _anything_ , brass bands, pick a side buttons, embroidered hankies, idiotic cakes, party favours or bouquets, and absolutely, under no circumstances whatsoever, no _choreography_!” He sat on the bed. “Everyone has gone fucking mad.”

D’Artagnan looked hurt. “I was only looking up that watch you said you fancied.”

“Oh. Sorry, love.”

“I thought we could exchange them instead of rings.”

Athos cuffed him lightly on the head. “No.”

“What on earth is a ‘pick a side button’?” Anne asked, coming to sit between them. She kissed d’Artagnan’s head. “Don’t sulk, darling. You know he hates fuss.”

“A pick a side button puts you on the groom’s team or the bride’s team,” Athos said. “Or, you know, the other groom’s team. It’s juvenile. Constance loves them. And I don’t _hate_ the idea of exchanging watches, but I am sick to the point of projectile vomiting of talking about this bloody wedding! It’s a purely legal step. It changes nothing for me.”

D’Artagnan gave him such a wounded look, Athos knew immediately how bad his fuck-up had been. “I didn’t mean...Charles, you know it won’t make me love you more. That’s impossible.”

“I thought...public recognition of our relationship...you know. But yeah, it’s not important.”

Anne put her arms around him. “Darling, it’s not that big a deal. Trust me.”

“I’m not you, though. To me, it’s saying, him forever, and no one else, except you, Anne. I don’t plan to play the field.”

 _Oops_.

She gave d’Artagnan a brittle smile. “No one starts out that way, Charles. But this is why I’m not marrying him. Athos, I’m going skiing.”

Then she was gone almost before Athos could blink, and certainly before either of them could apologise or explain. “Go,” Athos said. “Now.”

D’Artagnan ran. Athos put his head in his hands again.

_Mental. They’ve all gone mental._

**********************

Anne must have forgiven d’Artagnan because they didn’t reappear for hours, and the only contact he had in that time was d’Artagnan texting him with a selfie of the two of them kissing in the snow. So that was all right. But Athos had to put an end to this wedding insanity somehow, and there was only one way he could think of. Which, unfortunately, was the way that was going to be the hardest.

On this vacation, with such a small group, the adults had got into the habit of meeting in the evenings in the main living room to drink wine or coffee or tea, to talk and snuggle and relax. The line between employee and employer was already fuzzy, and at such times, completely obliterated. There had been a lot of psychic healing to do, and Athos, only just over the shooting injury, appreciated the time just to breathe and to be.

That night, once everyone was settled down, he stood up. “Would you mind if I said something to all of you?”

Monsieur looked surprised. “Please, go ahead, Athos. You’re among friends.”

“Thank you. I want to say something about this wedding planning. The first thing I want to say, is that getting married is the last thing I want to do.”

D’Artagnan looked up, brown eyes wide and hurt. “Athos?”

Athos put his hand on his lover’s head. “Shh, it’ll okay,” he murmured. “Getting married to me is an ugly solution to an ugly problem, which is how do I protect the two people I love most, from being treated like shit if I’m in a coma or I die. Marriage springs from the idea that only one man can own a woman at a time, that she’s property to be possessed and disposed of like a horse. No offense, ladies.”

“None taken,” Constance said. “It’s certainly how my ex thought of it.”

“Quite. All I really want is a legal acknowledgement of my relationship with Charles and Anne. Marrying Charles is botching it. So...I’m calling it off.”

“What?” Madame said. “Athos, you can’t.”

“Darling, let him speak,” Monsieur said, patting her arm.

“You couldn’t have said this to me privately?” d’Artagnan whispered.

Athos stroked his hair. “No, love. Because it’s become more about everyone’s perceptions rather than why I wanted to do this. Trust me?”

D’Artagnan nodded, though his expression was miserable.

“I also don’t want a wedding because if I invite my parents, Anne can’t come, and if I don’t invite them, I’ll hurt them and insult them without any good reason. So we’re not doing that either.”

“So, nothing’s going to change?” Treville asked.

“Not between the three of us. I’ve already made a new will leaving everything to my parents, and if they die first, to Anne and Charles equally. I’ve decided that you, Jean, my oldest friend and the best man I’ve ever served, are still the person I trust to do right by them in the worst case, and you will remain my executor and the person authorised to arrange a funeral. I’ll be dead, Anne and Charles and my parents are all adults, they can deal with whatever you say. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course, so long as Anne and Charles are.”

He turned to them. “Guys?”

“If you die, Athos, I don’t care about the funeral. Which means, yes, I’m okay,” Anne said.

“I think I feel the same,” Charles said.

“Good. So this is what I actually want, and Louis, Madame, Anne, Charles, I hope this is to your satisfaction. Before we leave Chamonix, the three of us will make vows in the sight of you all, with you as our witnesses. Lots of photos, which we send to whoever the hell needs to see them.”

“My mother,” Charles said. “Definitely.”

“Yes, though not mine,” Athos added ruefully. “And then when we get back, at some time suitable to all concerned, we just have a bloody big party in which I refuse to be involved in planning. You can go mad, my friends. Do your worst. If there’s any justice, then Jean and Constance will announce their engagement then and they can deal with the novelty glassware.”

Constance made a face at him, while Treville just shook his head, grimacing. “After you’ve just told everyone marriage is an outdated tool of the patriarchy,” Anne said. “I’m sure that’ll encourage them.”

Athos shrugged in apology. “I told you I’m crap at this stuff.”

“No kidding,” d’Artagnan muttered.

Aramis stood. “If you’re done, Athos?”

“I’m done.”

“Then I have something to say about marriage, if you don’t mind. As you know, Porthos and I could not marry until 2013. Marriage as an institution, I have no time for. But marriage as a way of indicating to the world, in the sight of God and everyone, that we are a team, we are for each other, and that our lives are twined together, especially for two people of the same sex, I’m all in favour of. Which is why the two of us were married as soon as we could legally do so.” He rested his hand on Porthos’s head. Porthos gazed up at him with naked love in his dark eyes.

“Aramis?” Athos said. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it didn’t change anything as far as you were concerned. You’re right. But it did mean something to us in private, so we did it. Jean knew, just for the paperwork. And as I’ve said to him and Constance, if the two of them want to marry, I’ll be there with my best heels on.”

Monsieur listened to all this with his mouth open. “Anne, did you know?”

“I did not.” She didn’t seem best pleased either.

“But this is wonderful news! Athos, since you don’t want a wedding, why don’t we let Aramis and Porthos have one? We can have a party for all five of you, and you can all invite the family and friends you want to invite. Porthos? Aramis?”

“Why not? I love parties,” Aramis said, stroking his moustache.

“So long as there aren’t any pigeons,” Porthos said. “Hate the bloody things.”

Monsieur clapped his hands. “Perfect!”

Athos leaned over to Porthos. “You have no idea what you’re in for, my friend.”

“Mate, I never even had a birthday party growing up. They can go as nuts as they want.”

Now Athos felt like a real heel, especially as d’Artagnan still looked upset, and Anne was giving him her ‘Oh, _Athos’_ look again.

“You know, this all sounded much better in my head,” he muttered to D’Artagnan and Anne.

“I bet it did.” D’Artagnan stood. “I think I’d like to sleep with Anne tonight, if you don’t mind?”

“No, of course not. Charles, are you angry?”

“No.” But he bit his lip, which to Athos meant, he wasn’t _angry_ but something else just as negative. “See you in the morning.”

“Now? It’s early.”

“I’m tired. Goodnight, everyone,” he said, raising his voice.

Anne slipped out after him, only stroking Athos’s hair as she passed. “Now what did I do?” he said to himself.

“He was looking forward to the wedding,” Porthos said.

“Yes,” Aramis agreed. “You didn’t warn him?”

“I didn’t want to do any of it, but it was getting beyond a joke and stressing me out. Anyway, now I’ve said it.”

“And that’s all that matters, ain’t it.” Porthos’s words were so heavily laced with sarcasm, it was a wonder they hadn’t fallen out of the air in great leaden letters at his feet. “You not being stressed.”

Athos stared in confusion. “What did I do wrong?”

Aramis shook his head. “Where do we start?”

“Start somewhere, at least. I haven’t a clue. Charles is old enough not to pout over not having a party.”

“Come outside, Athos. We can talk.”

He would have protested it was freezing out, which it was, but it was also a beautiful clear night, and he did, after all, have the right gear for it. Aramis, when he and Porthos joined him on the deck, brought brandy, which also helped.

They savoured the drink as it deserved, looking at the dim moonlight on the snow, under the brilliant stars. “So, what did I do?”

“What didn’t you do?” Porthos said. He ticked the errors off on his fingers. “Didn’t talk to d’Artagnan first. Didn’t talk to Anne first. Made marrying him sound as much fun as a colonoscopy. Made marriage sound like the worst thing ever just because you had a bad experience, and in front of two happily married couples too. Did that in front of your ex-wife, for fuck’s sake. Insulted everyone who had been getting excited on your behalf. Made the wedding sound like an unpleasant chore. Oh, and pushing Treville and Constance about getting engaged. That ain’t fair.” He closed his hand. “Want any more?”

“No. Bugger.” Athos stared into his glass. “I didn’t think—”

“That much was obvious,” Aramis said.

“I _did_ think. But I didn’t realise.... Hell.” He stared up at the light coming from the bedroom level, from Anne’s room, in fact. “I wish I’d never said a bloody word about getting married.”

“I’m sure there are at least two other people who agree with you, Athos,” Aramis said. He took Porthos’s hand. “I agree it doesn’t do everything you want to do for Anne and Charles, but what you did tonight was thoughtless and rather cruel.”

“How can I fix it? They know I love them. I offered them an exchange of vows—”

“Which you were lucky they didn’t tell you to shove up your arse,” Porthos said. “You do not have this kind of discussion in public, and not in front of the bosses, no matter how lovely they are. That’s up there with public proposals at football games as a shitty idea.”

Athos shivered at the idea of being put in that position by anyone. “So what you’re saying is that I can’t fix it.”

“No, I ain’t saying that. I’m saying you need to start thinking about them and less about how uncomfortable you feel about this.”

“You’re an introvert, Athos,” Aramis said. “We know that. Anne knows you hate public displays of emotion.”

“Then why the hell was everyone getting so carried away with the wedding? Jesus, Louis was all set to fly Queen in and have them play for the reception!”

“Wow, cool,” Porthos said.

“I changed his mind.”

“Pity,” Aramis said.

“Do you even know what _they_ want?” Porthos asked.

Athos frowned. “Charles was excited about getting married. Too excited, I thought.”

“And you have no idea why?”

“No,” he had to admit after a long pause. “I mean...we’re already together. We're not having children. There’s no pressure from parents to be married, as there was from mine.”

“But they didn’t like Anne, so they just like the idea of a wedding?”

He pushed his hand through his hair. “I think they thought being married was integral to being an adult and happy, even though it hasn’t brought them a lot of happiness, one way or another.”

“And you know that for a fact? That they’d have been happier unmarried?” Aramis said.

“No. Crap.”

“Seems to me you’re still seeing everything through the lens of your marriage to Anne, and haven’t stopped to consider that not only is Charles not Anne, but you’re not the same man as you were then either. Or even thought about the implications of what being married means.”

“What _does_ it mean, Aramis? Don’t give me all that crap about your lives being twined together. You were together before, and being married didn’t stop you cheating. I bet Porthos didn’t forgive you just because you’re married either.”

Aramis sucked in a breath. “You really can be a bit of a shit, Athos.”

“I’m serious, Aramis. What does marriage mean to you? Because to me it meant forever, with one person and faithful to them. And look how that worked out. Look at Madame and Louis, look at you and Porthos. Look at Constance and her ex. What does it _mean_?”

“Different things to different people, that’s what it means. What it means to me, is not what it means to Porthos, or Charles, or Constance. Or Anne, for that matter. What does it mean to _you_?”

“Hassle.”

“Well that’s honest,” Porthos muttered. “Now or always?”

“Now. Hassle...and failure. Because I can’t marry them both and if I can’t do that, anything else is accepting that I fail as a lover to both of them. That’s all I was trying to say.”

“Maybe if that had been all you’d said, you would have got away with it,” Aramis said. “Look, the vows idea was nice, but you can’t just drop it in front of them and go, that or nothing. It’s just rude.”

“I thought it was an elegant solution. You know, fun.”

“You need to stop with the ‘I thought’ and find out what ‘they think’,” Porthos said. “You also owe Constance and Treville an apology, and maybe Madame as well.”

Athos stood. “I’ll do that right now.”

“Wait. For the love of God, Athos, feel before you speak this time. Because thinking isn’t working for you.”

Athos gave Aramis a wry look for that. “Thanks.”

He walked back inside and shed the snow gear. Lights were still on in the living room, so he went back in and found Constance and Treville, and Monsieur and Madame still sitting and talking. “Oh good, I caught you. I’m sorry. I was very rude just now, to all of you.”

“No, you weren’t,” Monsieur said with a puzzled frown. Madame patted his arm. She obviously disagreed.

“Yes, he was,” Constance said. “I was only trying to make the wedding fun, Athos.”

Athos walked over, knelt down in front of her chair, and took her hand. “Yes, you were, and I was a grumpy sod about it.” He kissed her hand. “Please, forgive me? Madame, you too? I wasn’t just rude, but unkind.”

Madame smiled. “I’ll get over it. And yes, forgiven.”

Constance shook her head. “Okay. This _once_ , all right? But I’m not mad about that. I’m mad about what you said in front of Charles.”

“On the to-do list, darling. Jean? I’m a dickhead.”

“You were, a bit,” Treville said, folding his arms.

“You don’t understand, Athos,” Constance said. “He’s already asked me to marry him, but I don’t want to yet because...well, I just got out of a horrible situation. I trust _him_ , but I don’t trust the institution any more.”

“I guess I’m the same. Which makes what I said even more ridiculous. Aramis and Porthos would love a party though. Did you know Porthos has never had one thrown for him before?”

Madame sat up. “Really?”

“So he said. Orphan kid and all that. So...why waste your considerable kindness and talents on me when you could thrill him to bits?”

“Why indeed,” Madame said. “Louis, we have a mission.”

“Yes, we do,” he said, grinning hugely. “No party ever? Man, I can fix that.”

“I’m sure you can. Anyway, I have some fixing of my own, so I’ll say goodnight. I do appreciate what you were trying to do, even if I was...um....”

“An ungrateful arsehole,” Treville muttered.

“Yeah, that,” Athos said, flushing. “Sorry, boss.”

Treville grunted, but gave him a slight grin at the same time. “Go do what you have to do, Athos.”

He went to his room and texted Anne. _Can I come in?_

He waited ten minutes for a reply. _Are you going to be a selfish shit to Charles again_

_God no_

_Then come in but be prepared to lose an appendage if you hurt him again_

He grinned a little ruefully. The bond between his lovers was now as strong as that between them and him, and now Anne was overprotective towards both of them. Or maybe she was just appropriately protective.

He knocked on the door. Anne opened it. “Athos, what are we going to do with you?”

“The consensus seems to be that composting is too good for me.”

“About right. Come in.”

D’Artagnan was on the bed, sitting against the headboard. He looked up warily. “Hi.”

Athos sat on the bed, put his fingers under D’Artagnan’s chin and tilted it. “I’m so sorry, Charles. That was completely horrible of me.”

Anne sat next to him. “Do you even get why, Athos?”

“I know I hurt him. Both of you. I didn’t talk to you first.”

“Go on,” D’Artagnan said.

“I don’t understand.”

Anne poked him in the side. “He means, oh beloved nitwit, there’s more to it.”

“Oh. Aramis said I should ask you what marriage means to you. I should have asked before telling everyone what it means to me. And I shouldn’t have done it in front of you, Anne. I’m sorry.”

She waved that away. “God, I’m not bothered about that. You know I’ve sworn off the whole business. And I definitely don’t care about whether I’m there or your parents are.”

“I know but I want to be able to tell the world I love you, how much you mean to me, to stand up with you and Charles both....” D’Artagnan was nodding along. “Oh.”

“Yeah—oh. I thought, finally, I can stand up and tell everyone he’s my guy and I love him. I’d get to live that dream, even if it’s not perfect. And you turned around and said, ‘nah, not perfect _enough_ , so I’ll just toss the whole thing’. I wanted my mum to see you, see how much you mean to me. I wanted to dance with you, dance with Anne. Let you dance with my sisters, let my nieces and nephews call you uncle Athos and aunty Anne, because I’m their uncle Charles. I wanted you to be part of my goddamn family, Athos, and you just...flicked it all like bird shit. I don’t give a fuck about the ribbons or the bloody buttons. But I did care about the public acknowledgement.”

He wiped his nose, and Athos realised with horror that he had made D’Artagnan _cry_ over this. Athos reached for him and pulled him close. “I am a fucking idiot.”

“I just wanted to give you a watch that you wanted, and wear one from you, because a lot of guys don’t like wedding rings, and I thought maybe you were one of them.”

“I would wear any ring you gave me, love. Even if you wanted it in my nose.”

D’Artagnan chuckled wetly, and sniffed. “Christ, I didn’t mean to break down. I’m not a kid.”

“No, you’re a grown man whose grown up lover did his best to humiliate you in public in front of your boss,” Athos said. “Your boss, by the way, thinks I’m a fucking idiot too, and so does his boss. One of them, anyway. Louis doesn’t do nuance any better than I do.”

“That’s why he has Madame,” Anne murmured.

Athos held d’Artagnan until he felt his lover relax and breathe more easily, then he sat back. “So what would you like to do?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “Can’t do much now you’ve said all that to them.”

“No, answer the question. Well, two...three questions.”

D’Artagnan folded his arms. “What’s the magic word?”

“Blowjob.” D’Artagnan grinned. “Okay. Do you want to marry me in the legal sense?”

“Yes. But not if you absolutely hate the idea.”

“Okay. I don’t, by the way. Is an exchange of vows good enough instead?”

“Yes, I guess so. I thought we could do both though.”

“You’d like that? Anne, that would include you too.”

“Vows aren’t important to me, but I know they are to you both, so yes,” she said.

“Then I’d like both,” D’Artagnan said.

“And the last question is, do you want a party your family and friends can come to?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be ridiculous. Thought ridiculous is fun. I don’t mind it like you do.”

Athos sighed. “I suppose I don’t mind it _happening_. But talking about it in advance is not fun. Anne, we didn’t do all this for our wedding. Why have people become so silly?”

“Because they can and the internet exists. Constance and Madame and Louis are only trying to show you how much they care for you and Charles. And me, by proxy. It wouldn’t have killed you. Or cost you a centime.”

“Fair enough. Then how about this? Charles, you and I go down to the _mairie_ when we get back. Then either we piggyback onto this huge party Louis is about to throw for Porthos and Aramis, or we arrange something ourselves.”

“Piggybacking is fine,” d’Artagnan said, looking a lot happier. “If they don’t mind, I mean.”

“A double wedding celebration is considered very romantic by those who care about such things,” Anne said dryly, but her eyes weren’t as stormy as before.

“Do you want to sound people out? I’ll go with whatever you two are happy with. God knows, involving me is a recipe for disaster.”

“Yes, it is.” She stood up and started to undress. “Now as your punishment for being _such_ a thoughtless arse, is that Charles and I will do as we planned to do, which was to console each other with our bodies, while _you_ sit fully dressed and watch. _If_ you behave, then you get to sleep—and only sleep—with us. No touching yourself. All right?”

“Yes, that’s fair.”

“Anne,” d’Artagnan said, “It’s okay. I’m not upset any more.”

“I know, but it’ll reinforce the lesson. And I think, it’ll be hot. At least for me,” she added. “Charles?”

“In that case...Athos, chair.”

He grinned at them. “Yes, my loves. I’ll take it like a man.”

“In the morning, you certainly will,” Anne said. “Now, be quiet. I have a very sweet and handsome lover to attend to.”

Athos made a zipping motion at his lips, got comfortable in the armchair, and sat back to enjoy the show. Some punishments were better than others.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, criticisms, corrections and kudos all warmly appreciated!


End file.
